


A Series of Serial Killings

by silentflight



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Serial Killers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentflight/pseuds/silentflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hi so this is a fic that will have multiple chapters. Long story short, I got sick of the ableist "Yandere" Sock, and decided to fuck shit up in the best way. Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jonathan looked up as a case file was slapped on to his desk. He looked up at his superior, raising an eyebrow.  
“We’ve got a murder, Combs. We need you.” Mrs. Magill Nancy said. 

He simply nodded in understanding, tucking the file in to his bag and picking it up, slinging it over his shoulder. Jonathan Combs was one of the best investigators in the business. He had solved many, many cases, but specialized in Serial Killers. He had solved the Rafael Cruz murders, The Cottonball Killings, and The Sinnergy Slaughters. 

When Jonathan approached the scene, there was a sick feeling in his gut. This killer was neat and tidy. The victim had a stab wound around the sternum area, the injury was in the center of a star that was slashed over the shirtless corpse’s chest. The victim was missing one sock. The Medical Examiner concluded that the victim had died from blood loss, but there was no loose blood around the scene. The room smelled strongly of cleaning fluid, and when further investigated, there were no fingerprints, footprints, or hair. This killer was a genius, and incredibly careful. Jonathan was a bit daunted. There were no leads on the scene. Usually the killer was a little careless, but this one had committed the perfect murder. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was a Serial Killer. They were bound to slip up sometime. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski was in a rather messy business. Of course, being a serial killer wasn’t an easy job. He had to pay attention to every little detail, every piece left behind. He couldn’t forget, there was no room for mistakes, just one could get him jailed for life.

It started simple, but obvious in terms of serial killer psychology. Small animals. Squirrels, rabbits, the neighbor’s cat Jiffy. After getting caught the first time, thirteen weeks of therapy, and a congrats on “getting better!”  
He didn’t get better in the way intended though, he just got better at hiding it. Burying the bodies, cleaning up after himself. Napoleon eventually got on to catching and killing bigger things. It felt like a game to him, it was thrilling and he loved the chase, the noise, the panic, and the relief. It was all so intoxicating.  
  
Before Napoleon had heard of the famous serial killer investigator Jonathan Combs, he had never seriously considered killing a person. He kept up with the news, endless research and googling, until he knew pretty much every case Mr. Combs had worked on. While doing this, Sock was getting some dangerous ideas…. The thoughts of Jonathan trying to catch him were, enticing, to say the least. He started doing more reading, investigating forensics, and about a month later he killed his first human being as a trial run.  
It went over ridiculously smoothly. He went out deep into the woods, waited for a hiker to saunter by, and grabbed them around the throat. Pinching the carotid arteries on either side of their neck had them unconscious in around fifteen seconds, (goodness what a fighter! usually takes around 10!), which was long enough for him to gag them with their own bandana, and drag them off.  
From there, it was mainly a blur of violence, blood, (oh god, the blood was the best part!), and muffled screams. Napoleon deeply enjoyed taunting and toying with the victim, softly pressing his knife against their cheek, scratching down their arms, watching their eyes go wide in fear…. Damn, he should do this more often.  
Disposing of the body wasn’t all that hard. He dug up a large patch of turf in a clearing, set it to the side, and got digging. A hole around nine feet deep, took him all night, but it ended up being enough. He tossed in the body, threw the dirt over it, and then placed the grass patch he had taken neatly back on top. Napoleon disposed of his gloves and bloodstained clothing, putting on the clean pair he had brought with him. Seeing his victim in the news the next day was satisfying, yet scary. What if they found the body?  
  
Months passed, and there was no leads to that case. He was safe, the body had completely decomposed by now. His confidence was boosted greatly. Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski had made up his mind. He selected his next victim, gathered supplies, and as he headed to the location he needed to be at, a smirk was tugging at his lips.  
When they opened the door, he greeted them with a cheery grin.  
“Hello, sir! I’m here to talk to you about remodeling?”  
  
It had worked, been quick and clean, and in the news the next day he was shown that Jonathan Combs was on the case. Everything was falling in to place perfectly.


	2. Two

Napoleon pulled on a pair of rubber gloves with a soft snap, and then pulled his yellow goggles down over his eyes. Moonlight filtered in through the building's crumbling window, glowing over the damp floor, catching on the saran wrap that lined it. He smirked to himself, sighing happily and then picking up a small book, flipping through his notes. The paper felt weird through the rubber that held his identity, and he ran it over a page while checking every line to make sure he was right. Before leaving the hollowed out house, he pulled a white overcoat around his shoulders, and fastened it on tightly. The man smirked, closing the book with a snap and tucking a rag in his pocket. He closed the door, and went off walking down the street to his car. It was time.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Five months, three murders. So many files were being added to The Sock Slaughterer case that it made Jonathan's head spin. He dug through paperwork, pinned together the small pile of suspects, and at the end of the day there was nothing to gain. There had only been one witness so far, who was heavily intoxicated and sleep deprived at the time. They only remembered fuzzy shapes and a short scream.

Jon pushed his chair away from his desk, groaning and then spinning around in it for a minute. He stood, made sure everything on his desk was in order, and then flicked his small lamp off. Jonathan looked like a walking mess. Bags under his eyes that could have a Gucci tag slapped on 'em, black slacks with traces of powdered doughnut stains. His white, button up shirt had coffee spilled on it, and was only half tucked in to his pants. His tie wasn't even done, for god's sake. Jonathan slung his previously discarded suit jacket over his shoulder and looked up at the clock, ticking away precious time left until the next murder. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach, knowing it was going to happen again. 

He walked down the street in front of the office building, stretching and yawning loudly. Once he got to the parking garage, he made his way up the stairs and pressed the unlock button on his keys repeatedly to find where he had parked his damn car. Once Jonathan found it, he flung open the door and crammed his 6'3 self inside the pathetic Prius. He slammed his face into the steering wheel, a loud "hHHOOOONK" echoing through the concrete building. He stayed there for about a minute before straightening up, and beginning his half hour commute home.

Once Jonathan got there, he unlocked his door and didn't even bother walking upstairs. He lived alone, the empty, old house's floorboards whining in protest as he crossed the expanse of wood to his living room. The investigator dropped his belongings, stripped down to his underwear and socks, and flopped face first on to his couch. He shut his eyes, and tried his best to sleep.  
Jonathan wasn't very successful with that.  
Lately, he'd been having a lot of weird dreams. A demon in vibrant colors, with bright emerald eyes that captivated him in every sense of the word. Cackling, breathy laughter and sprinting through the woods. He remembered that he needed to lock the door, and got up to do that. He quickly fell back asleep.

Jonathan woke up the next morning to his ringtone blaring with the work song, and groaned loudly. Couldn't the killer let him sleep?


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No. The killer will not let Jonathan sleep until he is caught. Rip Jonny boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long

Sock had really outdone himself this time. The scene was layed out beautifully infront of him, each piece in the puzzle slotting together to make a symphony orchestra.  
A symphony orchestra of murder.  
He paused. Maybe he should write Jonathan a little note.... Was it too early for that? Nah, naaaah, he's doing it anyway.

 _"Hey officer Combs. How's it hanging? Haha, get it? Because the body is hanging? Yeah, maybe my humor isn't the best, whatever. Yanno, human decomposition is fascinating. By the time you find this guy, he should be in the permanent discoloration stage of Livor Mortis. Notice the post-mortem lividity in his fingertips, earlobes, toes, and the tip of his little purple nose. Ain't that cute? I sure think so. Hope you do too. Maybe I just have a thing for cute, pink noses._  
 _~Sock"_  
He tucked the note into the space between the victim's neck, and the rope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"What the fuck is this?" Exclaimed Jonathan, upon reading the note. All of a sudden, he was a lot more nervous. Super thankful that he'd remembered to lock his door. "God, this murderer has the best handwriting I've ever seen, but given the smearing of the graphite, they're either left handed or ambidextrous. Take note of that." Another officer scribbled that down on a notepad.

Cameras flashed around the crime scene, capturing the poor victim's corpse. Not entirely mangled, and an autopsy later revealed that the victim had died from asphyxiation. Tardieu spots appeared on the heart, little signs, along with red spots on the eyes and face. Burst capillaries were the cause, from the stress of strangulation.  
"Sock" had taken his time with this one. He'd done an impressive job.

Jonathan was exhausted again. These cases just kept getting scarier.   
Maybe taking a day off would help him relax a little, think about what to do next. How to track down this murderer, and get em behind bars.  
For now, though.... He was sitting on a bar stool by a window, nursing a cup of coffee. Jonathan was almost ready to go home, but then a peculiar looking kid slid into the seat across from him.  
"Hey, hot stuff. What's a pretty guy like you doing in a run down place like this?"   
The light above them flickered for a second.   
Jonathan felt freezing when he met the stranger's eyes, even though his gaze was soft and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is a cool blog with a shitload of forensic pathology/ gory stuff  
> http://www.tumblr.com/guts-n-roses


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kind words! i'm trying to update more regularly but life is hard. i appreciate your patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, hot stuff. What's a pretty guy like you doing in a run down place like this?"  
> The light above them flickered for a second.  
> Jonathan felt freezing when he met the stranger's eyes, even though his gaze was soft and warm.

Sock cringed at his own starting line, wondering if he came on too strong. Jonathan was just trying to figure out why a thirteen year old was hitting on him.  
"Uh, hey kid. Shouldn't you be in school?" He inquired, raising an eyebrow.  
"I'm shook, sir. You are mistaken. I'm twenty-two." He said proudly, stretching in his chair.  
"Oh, shit. Sorry." He said, sipping his coffee and becoming slightly wary. The person across from him was far too friendly.  
Sock took a deep breath.  
"My name's...." He trailed off. The nickname would be no good; given his trademark that he left on the corpses. "Maxwell, sorry, there was a moth over there that distracted me. What's your name?" He asked, holding out his hand for a shake.  
"Combs. Jonathan Combs." The man replied, lightly shaking Maxwell's hand. Maxwell flashed him a huge smile, and Jonathan felt the chill down his spine slowly dissipate. Something about his grin made him feel warm inside, fluttery in his stomach and he realized what that was. He bottled those feelings right up. Shoved em way down, way down deep inside where they couldn't get out without being tugged.  
"Jonathan Combs.... I like that name, I like it a lot. Say.... Would you like to go out sometime?" Jonathan choked on his coffee, and stared at Maxwell from across the table. He took a second, then nodded a little.  
"Um, sure. Yeah. Why not." The beaming grin that Maxwell gave off from where he sat was brilliant; all bright white teeth and wide green eyes. He wondered if he should just trust the beginning feeling, but reconsidered with the look he gave him. Sock scribbled his number on a piece of paper and passed it to Jonathan, then waved.  
"I've got to go, but call me later if you'd like. Or not, if you don't want to." He flashed a final smile, and Jonathan waved lightly in return.

When Sock got home, he collapsed on his bed and grinned. He buried his face in a pillow, squealing and kicking his feet around. He then thought about how much more careful he had to be, and frowned. This was going to be difficult, but it had to be done. It was little compared to the love he could experience, right? The times he could have.... All made this worthwhile. He hoped his crimes impressed Jonathan, that'd be the real reward.

Jonathan got home and stared at the number, entering it in his phone as a contact. He'd call tomorrow, but for now he wanted to kick back and read; maybe review the case files one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a short post, im writing another tonight though!


End file.
